


Like A Whiskey

by aliciutza



Series: Aliciutza Writes Jonerys Drabbles & Short Stories [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, also for cigarettes and this is very similar to a real life exchange, i have a thing for whiskey so yeah, kiss prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza
Summary: Jon is out drinking and brooding. It all changes when a silver-haired woman asks for his last cigarette.The prompt: "combination of 3 and 19? A drunk/sloppy, shy kiss"





	Like A Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OweMeOneKenobi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OweMeOneKenobi/gifts).



> The Kiss Prompts come [from this post here ](http://adecila.tumblr.com/post/183184679155/prompt-list)

He stepped outside the dainty crowded pub, a bit unsure of his legs, despite only having had two dark ales. He deeply inhaled the cold September air, not chilly enough for more than a jacket over a tshirt. He took out the pack of cigarettes, and lit what was supposed to be his last – he always said that –  leaning against the wall of the pub, just next to the door.

 

Jon took a long drag, hoping to chase the impending feeling of doom that came with yet another failed relationship. He closed his eyes, slowly expelling the smoke through his nose. This was supposed to be a distraction, Sam’s idea of taking his mind off things, his friend’s solution to his inevitable brooding. Before his mind drifted to the never-ending cycle of ‘what ifs’, the door opened, letting out a stench of spilled alcohol and sweat, along with a boom of laughter and generic pub tunes.

 

He didn’t open his eyes, not at first, hoping to avoid any socialising that was expected of him.

 

“Gods I would kill for a hit now,” a melodious voice came instead, sounding like nothing he had expected.

 

He opened his eyes, “Sorry, last one,” he motioned to the fag between his fingers. She grimaced, but he quickly added, “Unless you want what’s left of it?”

 

She nodded, coming closer, invading his space,  and his senses, slowing plucking the fag from his extended hand. Her fingers barely brushed against his and he fought against the shiver that crept up his spine. She remained in front of him, staring at him with those big eyes, the violet light from the pub sign reflecting off them, giving them an otherworldly tint. Her plump lips curved around the filter, finishing what was left of the cigarette in one long drag. He was mesmerised, unable to look away, from the way the vein at her neck pulsed, as she kept her breath, to the way she flicked the bud in the puddle next to their feet.

 

She took a step back, her eyes still trained on his, as she slowly moved her head to the side, finally expelling the smoke. Something compelled Jon to close the distance between them. They were standing so close, he could feel her breath tickling his face, as gentle as a summer breeze. He bent slightly, hoping to catch her lips, to taste her just once. Yet she avoided him, ducking her head, denying him that privilege. He supposed it was right, _who was he, claiming a kiss in exchange for a fag?_   But before he could resign, she caught his hand, squeezing it once; she tilted her head up, her nose brushing his so gently, his heart did a flip in his chest, her lips just a hair out of his touch. Jon felt her shiver right before her lips brushed his – soft, was the only word invading his mind, soft as the petals of a flower, for there was no other way to describe her lips. Jon felt her pull back, almost hesitating – yet she had successfully imbued him with the courage needed to take the leap – he chased her lips, pulling her flush to his body, deepening the kiss.

 

She tasted of whiskey, he could feel it travelling from the tip of his tongue, to his heart, setting his entire body on fire. He squeezed her closer, swallowing her moans, her hands travelling to his hair, pulling on it, making him want more.

 

They pulled apart for air, foreheads glued together in a silent promise. She laughed, “I think I am drunker than I realised.”

 

“You mean you don’t kiss every brooding stranger in exchange for their last cigarette?”

 

She smiled, shivering, and Jon realised she was but in a flimsy blouse, barely covering her midriff. He shrugged out of his jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. He wished he could immortalise the image, for she looked like she belonged in his clothes.

 

Her small hand peaked from his jacket, “Daenerys.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rest assured, I am in parallel working on the demon!Jon fic - it will come soon :) thank you for your messages about it!


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